My father was struck speechless for the first time in his life on the day that my mother fell through the ceiling.
Continue reading “It Had to Be Done by Robert Douglas Friedman”
Tag: fiction
A Quiet Place by Adam Kluger
His voice was exceedingly obnoxious.
Annoying.
Incessant.
“We’ll be seeking damages for all compensable losses suffered, of course. This Judge is a real prick, though.”
Chicagogh by Dave Louden
You can rent Van Gogh’s bedroom on Air BnB for ten dollars a night. We were on the final leg of our cross-country expedition when we ran into Chicago and out of money. When we left Venice West we were intertwined in one-another firmer than the Treaty Oak’s roots, somewhere around Lincoln Nebraska we suffered our own poisoning. By the windy city it was more than just a cold shoulder. We checked our pockets. Seventy-two dollars in change and we still needed to get to New York where our flights home were waiting on us.
Week 134 – An Appeal, Kathryn Toolan And No Punctuation.
I get a bit of a break this week as we have another one of those now and again Saturday Posts.
I’ll get the reviews done first and then I’ll introduce our special posting.
Continue reading “Week 134 – An Appeal, Kathryn Toolan And No Punctuation.”
Skipping by Hugh Cron
The two of them laughed as they skipped into the woods.
“You are rubbish!”
“I know sweet cheeks, my coordination is terrible.”
“It’s step forward, pause, step forward other foot, pause, step forward only quickly. Sing ‘Mary Mary, Quite Contrary…And You’ll get it.”
He tried.
They both bent over laughing.
November Moon by Sharon Frame Gay
The moon’s on its way to November, sailing a sullen sky. I think the whole world breathed a sigh of relief tonight, when the major told us to find shelter, get some shut eye before tomorrow. We’re too close to the enemy for camp fire, all of us hiding behind trees, and under bushes, keeping as quiet as smoke, settling into the dirt and leaves like animals on the prowl.
Sweet Boy by Matthew Lyons – Adult Content
When they can’t ignore the stink coming from his room anymore, Mom and Dad break the lock on Jeff’s door and go in, prepared, they think, for whatever happens next. It’s not like they don’t have an idea anyway, they still do all his laundry. There’s not a sock in his hamper that isn’t stiff and crusty and yellowed. Mom doesn’t even gag about it anymore it happens so much, she just makes sure to wear latex gloves when she does the whites.
The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why they always smell like sugar.
Continue reading “Sweet Boy by Matthew Lyons – Adult Content”
Week 133 – Principle, Discipline And Lactic Acid
Before I begin, I would like to welcome Nik back from his holiday. He was in Wales doing all things Welsh. As is my understanding he would be eating really, really, roasting, hot loaves, taming a roaming dragon, drinking Merlyn, seeking out a Max Boyce CD and trying to win a chair. They are a mystical race the Welsh.
It is great to have you back my friend!!
Continue reading “Week 133 – Principle, Discipline And Lactic Acid”
A Murder Of Crows by Hugh Cron
He looked out into the grounds and couldn’t understand the blackness. He thought that it was dead leaves. There had been a storm throughout the night which had unsettled. The dreams had frightened. He became anxious again as he tried to recall. They teased him, they were there hovering near to the edge of his consciousness, without form…disturbing. The Priest gave up and went into his bathroom to shave. The tremor in his hand changed his mind. He rinsed his face and tried to pray, the familiar words, spoken every morning since he entered the Diocese sixty years back were alien to him. They choked him and he felt a tear run down his cheek. It occurred to the old man that maybe he was having a stroke.
A Hero of Sorts by Martyn Clayton
There’d be silence in the seconds before the explosion. Even the crash and roar, the shifting of the sand and silt above would momentarily cease. Then you’d sit there crouched in the dark wondering what had happened to your breath. You’d count it in as somewhere ahead there’d be the movement of a body in scurrying retreat.
literally stories 